


Feline Wiles

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Alone at a party, Natiqa finds a like-minded partner.





	Feline Wiles

Natiqa perches on a sofa, sipping the last of a glass of wine as she surveys Nadia's party. The sitting rooms are overstuffed with princesses and the varied bunch Nadia invited, a recipe for drama. Natiqa tracks threads of tension—a wine stain here, a political debate there, nothing escalating beyond control. Nadia’s organ music helps contain the mood. It’s duller than the masquerade, but Natiqa’s inner peacekeeper feels satisfied, if a bit redundant.

Nadia's handmaiden approaches. She’s not on the job, judging by her embroidered red tunic and the way she ignores Natiqa's now-empty glass. Good. She's more than earned the break.

"Princess Natiqa, are you enjoying yourself?"

"Absolutely. Being in a crowd without having to manage it? A lesser person would faint."

Portia runs a finger over her tunic’s gold lining. It brings out the freckles on her neck and the light on her copper curls. "Oh, I know just what you mean."

"I bet you do," Natiqa says. Portia proved instrumental in directing the masquerade’s panicked partygoers, too impressive to remain a handmaiden. Luckily, Nadia seemed to agree when Natiqa put in a word, as she’s planned a promotion.

"Thank you for the help at the masquerade, by the way. Vesuvia isn't usually _that_ rowdy," Portia says.

"Without this many Satrinavas around, I can imagine. I'm sure you're very grateful. But you seem to have everything in hand."

"I try my best, Milady."

Natiqa peels her eyes away from Portia's star-bright smile to scan the room for fires. "Did you need my help with anything?"

"Oh, no, I just wanted to talk. Um, if I'm overstepping, I'll get out of your highness’s hair." Portia's face blooms a fascinating shade of red. She must think Natiqa has no time for a handmaiden; truly, Natiqa assumed no one would have time for _her,_ with her elder family members present and Nadia as the host of the hour. She scoots over and gestures to the cushion next to her.

"Not at all. You're just in time to eavesdrop on some prime nonsense. It's a riot, and not the type we usually have to prevent."

Her shame evaporating, Portia scoots close, a familiar curl to her lips. "Oh?"

Natiqa nods toward the off-duty guards arguing over the details of increasingly absurd war stories, the sort Nazali would enjoy. Natiqa always perks her ears; it's a poor ambassador who only talks, never keeping a finger on the pulse of a room. And it's a lonely little sister who doesn't learn to entertain herself.

"They're still at that? It’s not like they remember it any better than they used to," Portia says.

"You must have fresher information, then. For instance, I heard there’s the ghost of a hanged man floating around, causing a stir at parties. "

Portia peeps. "Can't believe everything you hear, huh? The cooks keep complaining about a wail in the well. Doesn't that just sound like a nursery rhyme?"

Natiqa gestures to Julian, who's standing on a table across the room. "Is that not the face on the wanted posters littering the streets?"

"Well, uh—it's a long story."

"Oh, I heard his detailed take already. I just wanted to know what you would do."

Portia crosses her arms. "Very funny."

"I heard a story or two about you, too. Did you really put a frog in his bed?"

“I'd forgotten about that. I was so little. That poor frog." She doesn't seem too sorry, otherwise. A woman after Natiqa's own heart.

Natiqa reaches for her glass, remembers it's empty, and twirls it. She’s learned to control her heart. It’s not needed for her negotiations, and if she never puts it on the table, she never has to take it back off.

Julian climbs down from the table, apparently at Nazali’s beckoning. Natiqa's suggestion to prank them makes Portia aghast.

"Ilya's one thing, but Dr. Satrinava...? I couldn't!"

"Oh, how boring. Who do you think taught me to play tricks in the first place? Not that I haven't assembled my own arsenal." Natiqa can't copy Nazali's old move of holding things out of reach, something she doesn't have to explain to Portia. The day even Nadia grew taller than her was the most demeaning of her life.

It's no matter now. Words provide the best leverage. 

"You had to figure out how to get the best of a lot of siblings, huh?" Portia asks.

"Exactly. And that's how I became an ambassador." For a family baby—and not even _the_ family baby—mischief is a way to get attention. Another thing she doesn't need, or care, to explain. "Though, Nasmira just forgives you, it's no fun."

"It'd make Milady look bad if I messed with her guests, but if it's fun you're looking for, I'd be happy to show you some palace secrets." Portia's mischievous smile wanes. "Um, I mean, if it's okay for us to leave the party."

"I'm an ambassador. It's only right I take the full tour—with a qualified guide. I'm sure our entourage would understand."

As a child, Natiqa sometimes slipped away from parties, just to see if anyone noticed she was gone. She’s not so petty now, but she still knows how to make a subtle exit as well as a loud entrance.

Portia does, too. They ghost into the hall, correct that nobody would question Nadia’s right hand escorting a princess by the arm. A strong arm, Natiqa notes as her hand slides into place below Portia's bicep.

Her control over her heart is a little less perfect around shorter women.

With Portia's expertise, they make quick work of the palace grounds. A sensation like bracing wind rushes past as they zoom through portals from the library to the gardens, to the veranda, to the wine cellar, and back to the gardens.

"Ah, the uses of a good portal!" Natiqa says while they rest on a bench. That many trips unbalanced even her; it's better than admitting her dizziness may be from holding onto Portia the whole time. "Disorienting guests, surprising people on the other side, planning escape routes..."

"Exactly! Not to mention alibis. I couldn't have been in the kitchen, I was here in the gardens the whole time."

"I love the way you think."

The twilight doesn't shield Portia's flush. A kernel of tenderness finds its way into Natiqa's heart, genuine enough to jostle her. She shoos it away.

An owl's sleepy waking hoot and a mouse's subsequent skittering can’t keep Natiqa's mind busy. She was never one for restful reflection like her sisters, and Portia has started to fiddle with her sash, so they continue on.

Portia guides them through an archway back into the palace hallways. After looking over her shoulders, she triggers the door to a secret passage. "After you," she says with a cat-like smirk.

Despite its promise, the tunnel is drab, its only stimulation the amplified sounds of steps on stones and dripping water. When she used to get lost exploring such places alone, Natiqa would practice rhetorical arguments. Portia's companionship provides enough entertainment in any setting. She describes her experiences in these tunnels in animated whispers. Even her breaths are hushed, like she and Natiqa are getting away with some great escapade that tunnel rats would uncover. 

They arrive at what is little more than a crawlspace. Portia rubs her hands together. "I've caught some evildoers red-handed from this spot. You can crawl in first, so you can see better."

Natiqa doesn't tease that Portia is telling a princess what to do—it gives her an odd burst of pride that their tour has emboldened Portia. They crawl into the space. Being able to hide anywhere has always been a perk of her height, but even two short people make for a tight fit as Portia squeezes beside her.

Organ music filters in. Natiqa looks through what must be a portrait's eyeholes. "Isn't this the party we were already eavesdropping on?"

"I guess it's a little pointless this time, yeah. But it's more fun! Besides, it's not like I'm on every party's guest list."

"What a loss for the parties. I guess you'll just have to start accompanying me to them, so everyone else doesn't die of boredom."

Despite Natiqa's attempt to be casual, Portia squeaks. "That's, um, funny."

Ah, the downsides of constant flippancy. "I was being serious, but that doesn't mean it couldn’t be laughable."

"Oh, I, I didn't mean to be rude. I'd love to go with you, I just—don't you have someone better to ask?"

"Are you kidding me? This is the best night I've had in a while. Kindred spirits don't come along every trip."

She wishes she could see Portia's tells. Does she still think Natiqa is joking, or—

"I feel the same way," Portia says, relief in her voice.

So forthright, even in the dark. Natiqa can't even put a finger on what gives away that she means it.

Portia’s body heat seems to vibrate against her. Their position would make it easy to turn her head, brush their cheeks, and press their lips together, exploring more interesting things than the party. _What do you know, this spot does have a tactical advantage_ , she would say.       

Her bluster doesn't last in the dark with a pretty woman. And she didn't become an ambassador without _some_ decorum; she'd start the evening with Portia as her date, rather than a handmaiden on break. Stuck in a tunnel is the last place she wants to make Portia feel obliged.

They don't stay crammed together for long, with how hot and sticky it becomes, but they weren't getting any spying done, anyway.

A more interesting subject has captured Natiqa's attention.


End file.
